


Ghosts Are Real And So Is Hope

by BamSara



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Family/Friendship bonding, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, OOC, One Shot, Slight implied willowson, Temp character death/sortof, Wendy is angsty child, Wx doesn't know where babies come from, Wx-78 is GN with they/him pronouns, a very long one, descriptions of violence, hc that abigail is more extroverted than her sister, slight divergence from ds's crafting system, tw suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 03:06:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17133866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BamSara/pseuds/BamSara
Summary: The motions stopped and Wendy feels herself being lifted up again and turned around, unceremoniously placed on the ground as the stranger put it’s hands on it’s hips. “I HAVE BROUGHT THE FETUS FLESHING WHO KICKED ME FROM THE TREE. NOW YOU MUST BELIEVE ME.”There are two others present, a surprised woman from a spot near the fire, and a man with a wild hairdo, mouth agape as he stared. “That's a bloody child!”-----Or, the story were Wendy is found by a group of survivors, fights a spider queen, and grieves the aftermath.





	Ghosts Are Real And So Is Hope

The first time Wendy awoken on the island she felt as if she were dead. But she isn’t, because the dead can’t feel how the sun burns behind shut eyelids or the rumbling ache in her empty stomach once she came to.

Waking up was not as jarring for her as one would expect it to be. At first she thought it must have been a dream, that the entire conversation with the man in the suit was a fable constructed in her mind and the forest around here filled with pines and chirping birds was just a convincing stage woven for her. Even as she sat up, leaves falling from her hair as her nails scraping the dirt did she believe it was all just a dream.

Until she glances down to a familiar, silk flower sitting upon her lap, as if waiting for her to awaken, did she realize that the world she’s come to, and familiar man in the suit, was indeed quite, quite real.

She’s upset at first. Not because she’s stranded, but instead alone, which was not at all what was she was promised. Though, something within the flower sends a shiver up her arm as she places it  in her pocket, unwilling to part with it for obvious reasons. She could sit here and starve, she thinks, but then her sister would also be alone. That wouldn’t do at all.

So she stands and gathers a few items, sticks, grass, some rocks and what not. Knowledge of how to create a crude axe and other things from near nothing is embedded in her mind though she knows not of how or when she learned of it. Even then it’s not much, but enough for her to create a small, contained fire pit a few feet away from tree just short enough for her to climb into at night and for the light of the flames to still reach her.

The nights here are cold and dark. The dark wasn’t scary, she doesn’t remember the last time it has been. But the flower shrinks and stings in her hand when the shadows begin to overtake her poor, pitiful campfire, so she keeps it fueled and plays with it’s petals as the flames push back the dark.

Wendy chews on a carrot as her thumb runs softly over the flower, feeling it brush against her skin as she waits.

 

* * *

Approximately two weeks since the beginning of her stay on the island Wendy receives a surprise visitor.

She does not know how to react, respond in any shape way or form, though it may be because the only true companion she’s had for the time being was a ghostly apperation (Who was, unfortunately absent at this time. Spider’s across the Savannah had taken their teeth to her sister and she was sleeping once more.) but really, because the visitor itself was obviously not human.

Wendy stares down at the intruder of her camp from her perch in the tree, squinting at how the sunlight glinted off the ‘skin’ of the person. The intruder seems to be scanning her too, it seems, with dark, animated features that bend the metal in it’s face, twisting it into an expression of something she could not read.

It stands with it hands at it’s hips, glaring up at her from it’s position on the ground. If it were not for the slight twitch of it’s fingers now and then, she would of thought it no more than another odd statue of which decorated this island.

The holes that make up it’s eyes meet hers, filled with as much emptiness as she felt. “FETUS FLESHING. REMOVE YOURSELF FROM THIS TREE.”

Wendy only slinks backwards into the branches, huddling her sister’s flower close to her chest. “I will not. Leave this place.”

This seems to agitate it, she thinks, because it’s foot taps against the ground in impatient manner. The creature takes step closer to the tree’s base, scanning the length of the vegetation. Thoughts of chopping the tree down or possibly set fire to it while she was still held her place in it’s branches came to mind but with no alarm. If she was to perish in flames at the doing of a odd metal figure, then so be it.

Instead, the figure looks back up to her, furrowing the metal on it’s forehead into something akin to brows. “IF YOU DO NOT COME DOWN, I WILL BE FORCED TO COME UP.” It announces, one hand reaching for the trunk. It’s voice is loud and strange, not quite monotone but emotionless and cold. If Abigail were awake, she’d say it sounded just like her.

The sleeping flower rouses in her hands but remains quiet, a soft hum coming from it. Not ready, not yet, but aware. Wendy curls it in her fingers and looks downwards again, scooting her knees closer to herself as she watches the stranger circle the tree for a foothold.

“I would not recommend it.” She says. She was small, light and could ease her way into the branches. She did not know if this stranger was truly made of metal, but whatever it was looked very, very heavy. “You will fall as we all must. I will remain here.”

It doesn’t seem to listen and latches itself onto the base of the tree, wrapping around it like a koala bear with determination radiating off of it in waves. Wendy complicates jumping from the branch, risking capture or a broken limb to escape but the thoughts fall silent as the creature scoots itself up the bark and higher, higher until it’s almost eye level with her. It reaches to the branch she’s stationed on, and laughs a mechanical sound of triumph. “I AM SUCCESSFUL.”

“No, unfortunately you will meet your downfall.” She places the heel of her shoe on it’s hand and kicks it off, the stranger fumbling before hitting the ground, a loud clang as it’s chassis makes contact with the earth. An unknown binary spews from it’s mouth. “Literally.”

It gets up, dusts the dirt off of it’s body and sends a glare her way that could once rival her own mother's. For a moment Wendy believes it’s going to try again, that it’s going to scrawl it’s way up the tree and yank her down, or simply wait until she is hungry or tired or weak or even bored enough to climb down of her own accord only to have herself caught the second she does.

But instead, it scoffs at her and leaves. As quickly as it came, it is gone, it’s clunky footsteps fading out of hearing range and leaving her alone once more with only the soft promise that her sister will return soon enough.

Wendy climbs down the tree and gathers the basket she was weaving prior to the stranger’s appearance. It may return, she thinks. She will have to move locations, probably somewhere with taller trees. But that can wait, at least for today.

 

* * *

Wendy awakens to a cold embrace, and to her displeasure, it is not death.

Her fingers scramble for her sister’s flower even before she registers the arms wrapping around her torso, pulling her down and then hoisting her back up sideways. She doesn’t focus on how the stranger had her over it’s shoulder now, holding her firmly with one hand, a light source in the other. How the vibrations shook her as the she saw the ground below move as it walked, how it mutters something inaudible as dawn broke over the horizon.

No, she worries only over her sister in her panicked grip. The world frays at the edges and the dark seems even darker even as the sunlight starts to wash over the plains they were passing but the flower is there, and it is safe. Wendy’s quickened heart begins to slow, clutching the flower in her fist and she manages to turn her head. The metal features do not face her. “Where are you taking me?”

It does not answer her, instead going silent as it makes it trek to a more open woodland area. Wendy can hear machinery running behind where she can not see, the sound of footsteps across wooden boards. She sighs. She always assumed that death would come to her eventually, though she did not expect to be taken to it. All the same, supposedly.

The motions stopped and Wendy feels herself being lifted up again and turned around, unceremoniously placed on the ground as the stranger put it’s hands on it’s hips. “I HAVE BROUGHT THE FETUS FLESHING WHO KICKED ME FROM THE TREE. NOW YOU MUST BELIEVE ME.”

There are two others present, a surprised woman from a spot near the fire, and a man with a wild hairdo, mouth agape as he stared. “That's a bloody _child_!”

 

* * *

The stranger’s name was Wx-78. They were made of metal, wires, gears and ‘evil’, as they so stubbornly injected.

The man-Wilson P. Higgsbury, he introduced himself- sat her down on a log near a well constructed fire pit while the woman interrogated her captor a distance away from them, though Wendy could still hear her voice along the breeze, angry and confused at the robot whom was also equally angry and confused, though for different reasons.

Her fingers tap against her sister’s flower, listening to their voices. She didn’t realize she had been quiet in introductions for a moment until she hears a polite cough and glances up to see Wilson with a soft smile, a trace of worry wrinkled in his face. The name Higgsbury sounds strangely familiar, like coming across a book you once read years ago, but the title is worn and you can barely make out it’s meaning. Like a muffled memory.

“I apologize for meeting like this. Wx is not one for niceties and has a terrible lack of manners.” He explains, messing with the lid of a damaged kettle over the fire. “I don’t think they has a soul, really. But still that’s no way to treat a young lady such as yourself. I hope you can understand they mean’t no harm to you.”

Wendy’s expression remains neutral, twiddling the petals between her fingers as Wilson pours something hot into cup made of…gold? A shiny, crudly made gold cup it seems. A glance around the fire tells her that there’s even a few golden utensils placed about, though awkwardly fashioned and bent. Gold was a soft metal, she remembers being taught as such. Being born in a higher class family did have it’s benefits of allowing even her to have a grasp of education.

She was also taught to have manners, but that was not her best attribute at the moment. “They cornered me in my own camp grounds and demanded I go with them without explanation.” She responded, her voice not vile or angry, just plain. The man in front of her sighed and stirred something sweet smelling into the cup, shaking his head. “Wx-78 is a very assertive individual, I know. They only wanted to bring you here.”

Wendy titled her head, eyeing the liquid he stirred into. “Why would he do that?”

He stops, a smile coming back onto his face and a lighter tone taking over his voice. “To prove that they had found ‘another smelly human’ and a ‘fetus one’ at that.” There’s a slight mirth in his tone,  as if recalling a funny memory. “Honestly, Willow and I didn’t believe it at first! The way they described you was alike to a small monkey. We just thought that maybe one had come up from underground and caught their attention and uh…”

He pauses for a moment. “We should have listened the first time. I’m certain they’ll expect an apology later.”

Wendy’s gaze trails to the forest line where the woman and the robot stood, their voices now quieter though looking just as much engaged in an argument. The woman must be Willow. She scans her for a moment. She was very pretty, an odd sort of pretty, like when a rose wilts and red trails up the petal’s veins like a crackling fire. She makes a small note to ask Abby what she thinks as she returns to the conversation at hand.

He holds something out for her; the cup, a unusually calming sweet smell coming from it. The man watches her judge the offering in uncertainty and speaks. “It’s dragonfruit tea, with some honey mixed it.”

She’s not thirsty and her nerves were no longer frayed, but it would be rude to not accept. Holding her sister’s flower in one hand and taking the cup in the other, she lets the steam drift up to her nose and inhales the aroma. It tastes sweetly hot. Abigail would have liked something like this.

Her fingers return to brushing the petals again as she drinks. Wilson’s gaze darts from her’s down to her hands, eyeing the flower and suddenly Wendy feels defensive and cautious. The dark haired man does not seem to notice, more interested with the slight glow the item gave off. “Does that belong to you?”

“Here, it does.” Wendy starts, watching him over her cup. “It’s truly my sister’s.”

“I see.” He gives a nod, fixing a cup of tea for himself. “And where is she now? Back at your original camp?” He waves a hand in a general direction that the blonde believes must be wherever her old campground was, or at least where Wx-78 came from when they kidnapped her. “She must be awfully worried about you. We must leave to get her as soon as possible. Winter will be-”

“She’s dead.” Wendy interrupts him with a deadpan tone. “She is already here with us.”

Wilson freezes, his fingers halted dipping a spoonful of honey into his drink. “I see.” The air is lukewarm as fall allows it but the space between them is cold. The man is tense, brows furrowed as he sets down his cup and curls his hands up in his lap. The look he has on his face looks the same as every adult she’s told, caked with pity. Though, his posture is familiar and unbreakable stare between them tells her that it’s not just pity he holds for her. It’s a strange look, one that the doctors held for her back at home once.

He opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted once more, this time a bolder voice joining them. “So how was meet and greet?” The woman, (Willow, like the tree with drooping branches.) saunters up to them, either unaware of the tension or keen to ignore it. “Did you guys get everything sorted out and whatever?”

Wilson looks like he wants to finish what he was going to say, but makes the decision not to. Wendy glances at him from the corner of her eye. A wise decision. “Well, she knows that Wx is, you know, usually like that.” He makes some motion with his hand to emphasis his point. “Speaking of which, where are they?”

Willow grins down at him. “Sent him out on rabbit trap duty since he likes to manhandle so much.”

The man sighs, running a hand through his hair. “That will keep them busy, I suppose.” He pauses for a moment, turning back to Wendy. She pets the flower in observant silence, watching them both. Willow takes a seat besides Wilson, though not a log and quite close to the fire. Actually, very close to fire. Another inch or so and her arm would be engulfed in flames. But she doesn’t seem to be bothered by it.

“I’m Willow, if this nerd hasn’t already told you.” She jabs at Wilson and the man makes a show of mock offence. Wendy finds the act sickeningly adorable. The woman glints at her with lively eyes- the kind Wendy wished she saw in herself-and continues. “We’ll have to go get your stuff before it gets really freaking cold or otherwise we’ll have to leave it. It’s too cold to travel for very long in the wintertime.” She jests, “And if it’s really heavy, we can just make Wx carry it.”

Wendy blinks, her sister’s flower jostling her so slightly in her palm. The two adults don’t seem to notice. “I’m staying?”

The brunette gives her a look. “Yeah? Survivors stick together right? Wasn’t that the plan?” Her question is met with silence from the blonde, so she turns to Wilson. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Well,” He has a awkward stance about him, rubbing the back of his neck. “We haven’t even given her a chance to introduce herself, darling. I didn’t think we’d jump this far ahead in discussion quite yet.”

He’s not finished with his sentence fully before Willow rolls her eyes, leaning forwards towards the girl. Wendy feels her grip around the flower grow tighter, setting her teacup to the side and holding it both within her hands. Nerves sprung up in her chest, which only strengthening as the woman tapped her knee.

“But you ARE staying with us, right?” She asks. “We need another girl around here. I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna last if I have to hear both of these  dumbasses-”  She points to Wilson and presumably in the direction where Wx-78 went. The man gasps in response, mummering something about not cursing in front of children. “- finally make me go crazy.”

She pulls back and tilts her head. Wendy can feel her scanning over her. “Besides, I don’t know how I’ll feel about leaving a kid out here all on her own.”

But she wasn’t on her own. She wasn’t alone, not all the time at least. Abigail was here and Abigail was all she needed.

“It’s deplorable, is what it is.” Wilson interjects, crossing his arms. “Only a monster would isolate a child on this hellish place.”

Wendy looked down. They didn’t know, of course, that she came here of her own accord. What did that make her?

A quiet hush overtakes the three, Wendy breaking from her thoughts to look back upwards. Two sets of eyes hovered over her, two people awaiting an answer to a question they haven’t formally asked. This would not be the first time Wendy was put on the spot but it’s still not a good feeling that travels with it.

The flower in her hands pulse and little whispers crawl from her neck to her ears, seamlessly flooding from her mind into her eardrums, words becoming sentences with no mouth. Abigail likes their camp. She likes their little cups and their tea, the pretty lady and the man with nice manners. Even the robot was tolerable. Her sister disagreed, but the flower only thrummed louder.

Wendy whispered a soft hush to her sister, setting her hands in her lap before returning to face two curious adults. “I will stay, if it’s no trouble to you.”

Two different smiles greeted her, Willow one of joy, Wilson one of what looked to be relief. “No trouble at all.” He claps his hands together, a habit he must be oft for doing because the brunette beside him gives him a light shove afterwards. “And, uh, what should we call you Miss…?”

“Wendy” She says, holding up her cradled flower. “And this is Abigail.”

 

* * *

It is not very long before they meet her sister. Though it was rather sudden and Wendy did not have the appropriate time to prepare.

It was perhaps a week or two after her move into their camp, the cold air of winter settling as snowflakes fell from the sky and tickled her nose. Abigail always liked snow and so did she, so Wendy made a special effort to craft a small snowman near the tent Wilson had graciously made for her. It was nice, not having to sleep in a tree for once.

It was tiny and ugly, dirt and old leaves crushed up inside of the body as she made it, breaking a twig in half for it’s arms and using rocks for it’s face. She placed Abigail’s flower on top of it’s head and heard her sister laugh from the back of her mind. It made the corner of her mouth twitch, so she sat there and watched the petals dance and the flower floated centimeters above the snowman, like pink silky hair.

And then suddenly, there was no more flower. But a phantom in the shape of her sister.

There was a gasp behind her, Wendy turned to see three faces staring at the ghost. Staring at _her_. Willow held a freshly dead rabbit near the firepit in one hand, a skinning knife in the other.

She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know what to say or how to move and neither does Abby, so she sits and waits for them to process. She sits in the snow, head down and glares at the little snowman until a hand yanks her backwards away from her spot.

At first, they think Abigial is a threat. Wilson grabs Wendy and tosses her behind her in a swift motion marked by surprise before brandishing an axe, the closest weapon he had on hand. She can see Willow pick up her lighter and Wx-78 brandish a spear before she finds her voice and yells for them to stop. It’s hoarse and panicked, and she doesn’t remember the last time she’s had to raise it so loud.

It falls on deaf ears however and takes her moving  between them and Abigail to stop their advance. Her sister does not move, does not speak, just watches as the three pause in their shock to glare her down.

Each one of them take it differently. Wx-78 was the first to no longer care, as long as the ghost was not hostile they claimed they had more important matters to attend to. She could see his opticals peer over once every hour or so, perhaps not curiosity or interest, or even disgust, but simply acknowledging Abigail was there. An off hand comment was given about how annoying the cold air around her was but nothing more came from the bot.

Willow was more stubborn, more curious. It wasn’t beyond her beliefs that such a thing could happen, she says. She was camp-mates with freaking robot, after all. She says this with a laugh, flickering the lighter absentmindedly as Abigail floats around Wendy, leaning forwards and casually asking what happened to her. It comes off slightly rude, even if Willow doesn’t quite mean for it to be. But the idea of having a ‘ghostly baddie’ (In the woman’s own words, of course) on their side was the feat that won her over.

Wilson does not like Abigail at all. Abigail wishes that he did.

His reaction is not quite hostile, but a scowl of disbelief. Often more than not the man sends a glance in the girl’s direction before quickly turning away, not before Wendy catches the wash of distaste on his features. She isn’t the only one to notice this it seems as Willow pauses in between her stroking the fire, chucking a pebble at the scientist. It hits him on the leg and the man turns away from a strange machine-(A science machine, he calls it. He told Wendy he would teach her how to make one too.) and raises his brow when Willow asks when what his ‘deal’ was.

“It offends me as a scientist.” He says, “The supernatural are myths. There’s a scientific explanation for everything.” He stops and points to Abigail. “Except that.”

Her sister is not an ‘it’, she is Abigail. She is her twin sister and she will not part with her sibling, never in life, nor in death. Wendy finds that she is not angry, only disappointed, and then criticizes herself for having the hope he would understood anyway. The woman and robot were mere chance, any sensible person would find her nonliving sister unnerving.

Though, nothing in this realm was created to be sensible, and the people who’ve made deals to be brought here must be even less so. It’s a corrupted circle, as life will always be.

The scientist does not speak to Abigail nor does he acknowledge her again, even when she slowly floats over to the machine and sinks to haunt into it, turning the gears on their own and making the contraption shake right before him. He just walks away to the ice box and fixes himself a meal, never saying a word. (Abigail dims at the sight, flying back to Wendy in sad rejection.)

Willow brings her a bowl of chili and starts up a conversation between the four of them of going to get more spider silk, for they were just short enough to create another winter hat. Wendy reaches up top her head and feels the for the soft lining of the cap she wears. It was Wilson’s once, but he suggested she have it. When she refused, he insisted his beard was more than enough to himself warm and plopped it onto her head.

She wonders if he knew that Abby laughed when he did that.

 

* * *

It’s the middle of Winter now. There’s less food, the animals are hibernating so there’s less to hunt, and the cold is unbearable even when fully bundled next to a raging fire.

Willow is immune to fire, Wendy learns. It was after a day of consistent snowfall and chilly breeze did the woman toss a couple of logs into the pit, light the tender and take a seat in the middle. Wendy wants to say something at first, but light blue eyes meet amber ones and the woman gives her a smile warm enough to warm hearts. Not hers, of course, but it was a nice one.

“Don’t worry,” She gives a wide grin, ushering her to come closer. “Come look!” The girl sends a glance to her sister who is already drifting towards the woman, closer, just enough until she is hovering over Willow herself and staring curiously into the flames. Wendy joins her, folding her hands into her lap.

The fire grows higher, tickling up Willow’s arms and legs, yet does not seem to burn. THe feeling of amazment rushes thruogh her, causing her to take on a wide=eyed expression (Willow laughs at her face, a pretty, flute-like noise) A glace to Abigail tells her that she feels the same. Even through all life’s pain, a child’s awe is still awe.

“I’m fireproof. Always has been even before I got dropped off in place.” The flaming woman holds out her arms as fire flared up her limbs. “Pretty sweet, huh?”

Footsteps approach and an irritated grunt sounds from behind her. “SCIENTIST. THE PYROMANIAC IS SHOWING OFF. AGAIN.”

Said pyro drops her smile and replaces it with a pout. “Oh can it, tin can. I’m keeping warm.” She flips her hair, (Which is also on fire. Flames spur up into the air when she tosses it over her shoulder and Abigail moves from above her, swirling around to watch the colors and lights.) before sticking her tongue out. Her attitude is abiet childish for a grown woman, Wendy notes. But she cannot judge, acting one’s age was optional and a privilege.

Wilson shuffles out of his tent, a half-eaten kabob in one hand and a pencil in the other. His brows were down turned and flat faced, probably annoyed at the interruption of his journaling no doubt. “Yes, and it’s quite a show. Do be mindful not to get your gears in a twist, Wx, she’s just showing Wendy a neat trick.”

The robot stomps their foot. “MY GEARS DO NOT TWIST.”

“A ‘neat trick’?” Willow juts in, swiveling to face him. The motions of her body doing so causes the flames to move with her, a small trail of fire outlining her figure. Abigail whispers awes and oohs in Wendy’s ear as it crackles on the woman’s skin and up in her hair. It was beautiful, says Abby. It makes her want to jump into the fire too.

“This is wayyyy more than just some neat trick, Wilson. I’m like, a fire goddess or something!” She gestures at herself, puffing out her chin. The scientist gives her a quick scan over before taking a bite of his food, chewing quite comically as he strokes his beard in thought. “Well, you’re certainly _something_ , not sure about the whole goddess part.”

“YOU BOTH DISGUST ME.” Wx-78 voice rings out. “IF ANYONE HERE IS A GODDESS, IT WOULD BE ME.” They put a hand on their chest, the other placed on their hip. “I AM SUPERIOR TO BOTH OF YOU.”

Wilson adjusts his seating so he’s now sitting cross-legged outside the tent, just within the fire’s heat distance and gives the robot a look. “I find that scientifically hard to believe.”

“UNLIKE YOU, I AM NOT A STINKY ORGANIC.”

“Rocks aren’t organic either and they’re super boring.” Willow laughs, much to Wx-78’s displeasure. “You’re basically a rock who can talk.”

“INCORRECT.” Wendy hears Wx-78 drop to the ground beside her and turns her head, blinking as she finds a metal finger is pointing at her. “I WILL SHOW THE FETUS THE POWER OF LIGHTNING WHEN SPRING COMES. THEN SHE WILL KNOW WHO IS THE TRUE GODDESS.”

Wilson sighs. “For the last time, Wx, Wendy is not a fetus. She is a human child.”

“THEY ARE THE SAME THING.”

The woman in the fire pit gives a heavy sigh, laying on her back with her arms cushioning her head as the two bicker, the flames wrapping around her head like a halo. How quaint, Wendy thinks. Maybe one day, when she finally returns to Abigail and leave the mortal realm they both might be granted halos of their own. Mother seemed to be sure that Abigail already had one, but the flower was the only decoration adorning her sister’s head now, just alike her own.

Abby’s form is whimsical as it joins her sister, resting a few inches off the ground. These people are lively, so very full of hope and life. Even the soulless one, though abrasive as they are, made air so much more lighthearted. It’s a nice, change, even if for a sliver of time to not be so caught up in our own morality.

* * *

All good things eventually end.

It started out as a routine afternoon; Willow was making sure everyone’s thermal stones were properly heated up, Wx-78 was sharpening their spears and Wilson tying together the last log pieces together for makeshift Armour. Clunky and uncomfortable, but worked surprisingly well. She finds a chest piece set outside her tent when she awakens in the morning, Abigail trailing out from behind her.

Wx-78 tosses a spear in her direction. It rolls against the snowy ground to her feat and Wendy picks it up, weighing it in her hands. “WE ARE GOING TO THE SWAMPS. PREPARE YOURSELF.” They place a log suit over their heads and secures it to their chassis with a rope. She puts hers on as well. It’s not very warm, but Willow hands her a thermal stone, nice and hot to keep in her skirt pocket. It gives off heat quite well, sending small waves of warmth onto her. It’s enough heat that she can’t feel the coldness that comes off of sister as Abby inspects her closely, whispering how funny she looks ready to fight.

Wendy is not a fighter. If death would come for her then she would go without resistance. No hesitation. But from the looks of their gear and the sharp tip of the spears, it would seem that she would be the one who will bring death upon the living today.

Wilson approaches her, a football helmet made of a unfortunate pig’s skin on his head. Bits and pieces of his hair are smushed down onto his forehead but he blows them away with a puff of air. “Everyone set?” He asks outloud, but he’s more or less looking at her. Abigail flutters in her place and she gives a slight nod of the head herself.

“Good. Let’s not dally then, just get the silk and get out. I’ve packed a couple of glands from our last trip in case anyone gets hurt.” Making way to the edge of camp, he ushers everyone to follow. Willow looks sad to leave the fire but pulls away. Wx-78 falls behind them, pace nearly matching the twin’s own walking speed. Something tells her that they’re walking that way purposely.

They eye her and the form of her sister following close by. “DO NOT FALL BEHIND, WEAKLING.”

She debates even allowing the robot a response, but they walk away before she could make a decision. She stands at the back now, with only Abigail trailing behind her. Whispers of how pretty the snowflakes look and how rude her fellow metal survivor was wisp to her ears. The faint glow casting off her body combined with the falling snow make a scene worthy of a painting. Ethereal, beautiful. Wendy wonders if her sister knew just how beautiful in death she was.

They walk in relative silence, mind for the stray comments Willow makes here and there to complain about the cold. Soon enough the ground beneath them turns squishier and softer, even underneath all the snow Wendy feels her feet sink further into the ground and nearly stumbles before a hand catches to steady her.

Willow pulls up onto a harder patch of land, a sturdier piece. “Try to stay on the road if you can see it. Slimies can’t get you if you stay on the road.” She gives her a tiny pat on the back and continues walking. Wendy tilts her head. Slimies?

They walk a little further, far enough to where the trees look even more barren than their birch counterparts and their branches sharpend like spikes at the end. Even the brush that scattered the biome was filled with prickly bushes. It’s a purple wasteland, almost empty if not for spiky foliage and whatever seems to be moving underneath the swamp dirt as they pass.

Abigail floats over a spot as they walk, a small mound of ‘something’ rising from the ground momentarily before slinking back into the soil as she flies away. Both twins stop to watch it disappear, giving each other earie, curious looks.

A hiss resounds from afar, she feels Abigail tense close to her. Her gaze falls upon a nest of spiders, full of squirming little lives with teeth and pincers flooding out of their spawn like rats. Out of the corner of her eye, she spies Wilson moving from his place from their webbed flooring, impaling an an attacking spider. “Get ready!”

Willow has built a small campfire with remarkable speed a safe distance away, the flames building high enough to keep everything within a small area warm. Wx-78 has already rushed towards the enemies, stomping one spider beneath their heavy boot, the sharp end of their spear running another into the ground.

They flick the spider’s corpse off the weapon and sinks it into another; Wendy remembers that she too, must kill the creatures that flood from the nest.

A spider, not as small as one should be, skitters up to her. It’s teeth are sharp, it’s claws are sharper and it freezes her blood cold enough to where even the thermal stone’s heat could not help her. Still, the girl takes a step backwards, the lunging spider missing her ankle only by a few inches and brings her spear down, the tip meeting it’s head.

It twitches for a moment, the spear only half sunken into it’s flesh and makes a snap for her feet. Wendy gasps, stumbling backwards. Before the spider could attack again it’s body convulses, a stream of white wisps sliding out of it’s pores. As it drops lifeless from the ground, Abigail rises from the body, red with anger.

Wendy catches her breath. She was no fighter, no killer of any kind and these creatures were not butterflies nor rabbits. Any killing of her own would be prolonged due to her lack of strength, But her sister? Why, Abigail could tear their very souls apart.

Between the three adults and her sister, fighting these things aren’t particularly difficult. Even so, the sky begins to darken and even more pour from the nest, sprawling and hissing at their direction. Wendy’s hands limbs work like machinery now, spearing a spider; kicking it away and while her sister haunts it until it’s life essence is dead and erased. They were no match.

The pryo woman is shielding Wilson from more incoming attacks as he deals with strange, golden looking spiders, grunting as a particularity determined spider lunges and thunks against her armor. “How many more of these do we have to deal with!?”

The scientist kicks a spider back, it’s body thrown against it’s comrades. Wendy’s not certain, but she thinks she see’s them begin to eat it. “Not long now!” Wilson shouts, “They’ll be running out any minute now and we can break the nest!”

A sharp crack. A long, black leg breaks free from the nest, another following. It lifts itself with an audible growl and hiss, multiple glossy eyes staring into the heart of their group.

Wilson stops. “Or that could happen.”

As if to compliment his comment, the Spider Queen’s leg lashes out towards him. He manages to duck last second but the leg manages to catch the end of him, striking his helmet and swiping through the big mess he calls hair. The football helmet skids across the swampy ground, Wilson falling in turn. A hand flies up to his ear; he’s bleeding.

Willow makes some indiscernible noise from where she stands but cannot move with the queen’s spawns on her. Instead Wx-78 flies from their spot, nearly shoving Wendy aside as they rush with a spear, a declaration of war. Their weapon sinks into the spider’s fleshy side with a small, wet thunk. “COMBAT REPORT: UPDATED.”

The Queen hissed something, turning her focus from the scientist to robot. A murderous look has molded into their features. “YOU WILL BE OVERTHROWN, QUEEN.”

Wendy does not stay still to watch the two exchange blows and swings, instead, runs across the marsh towards the helmet. The ground begins to move in uncertian patterns as she runs off the road, changing and lifting beneath her heels. Abigail struggles to cover her, red wisps fighting spiders hot on her trail.

Pale fingers inclose around the helmet and the girl glances around, spotting the scientist backed against a spiky tree with hordes of minions surrounded him. He bats them off like baseball with his spear, his log suit broken and useless. Wendy pulls herself up, bringing the helmet into a throw. “Mr. Higgsbury!”

Her voice is not loud, quiet and strained from disuse but he somehow hears it among the hissing anyways. The helmet lands on a spider, bonking on it’s head and bouncing off another until he catches it, quickly securing it back on and returning to the fight. He seems more confident now.

Suddenly, a hard whip slashes Wendy to the ground, putting her arms in front of her face to shield from whatever swipes at her front, weight cracking against her own log suit and smashing it to pieces against her chest. Then a separate force tackles her, pining her arms and sends both figures tumbling a few feet away. Willow’s amber eyes meet her own. “I thought I told you to stay on the road!”

At first the bereaved is too shaken by the hit to process but catches sight of a long, spiraling tentacle erupting from the spot where she once stood. Black spikes as sharp as the reaper’s own syth dot the end of it’s whip, slashing about at the spiders that scatter within range. For a moment, Wendy wonders if death by this creation would be swift.

It’s only a moment though, because Willow is picking her back up and shoving her fallen spear into her hands, shouting something she can’t quite discern before running to help Wilson. She uses the spear as a crutch, eyes looking out to the carnage.

Abigail slinks in and out of the Spider Queen’s body, raging whispers and shadows trickling in the corner of the girl’s mind. Her body is clearer now, red and full of rage, even the smaller spiders fall back in fear as their leader bites down on air. Her sister falters for nearly a half second before slinking back in again, just as Wx78’s spear find’s the creature’s neck.

The Queen pulls back a leg in a sharp hiss of pain and spring it out. It strikes Wx on the chest, slicing clean through the wooden armor and sending them backwards until they slam into the Wilson, sending them both sliding through the purple guck.

The Spider Queen bleeds black blood through multiple body wounds, but she still fights. Even in the face of death, even as as her minions perish faster than she can produce them, even as the undead rips apart her soul. Just as Wendy’s fellow survivors, who’s spear handles are slick with their own blood yet still fight. Like Abigail, who’s ethereal body is fading fast as she attacks.

Blank blue eyes trail over to the two bodies, one unconscious and the other too damaged to move. Willow struggles to keep them safe from the spider and tenticles, but her resolved courage is quickly running out.

Wendy tightens the grip on her spear and runs at the queen.

She’s small, small enough to slip underneath it’s legs and slide against the ground, knees scraping as she points her weapon upwards and stabs. Right into the heart.

Willow is screaming something at her, another voice follows in tow but she cant hear because Abigail is yelling even louder, the whispers of the dark echoing like music in a closed chamber in her head. The Queen’s body shudders as she lets out a vicious scream, black spilling from her middle piece and splattering across Wendy’s face. She only grimices and twists her weapon deeper. Blood is soaking her shirt.

Then, the Queen is dead. Her body falls and Wendy has only a few seconds to move before it crushes her skeleton. Part of her wishes it would, but she’s already out of the way as it crumples to the marsh.

The air has gone silent. The scattering of the spiders have stopped, the survivors retreating into the further depths of the swamp away from the survivors. Her heartbeat is pounding, there’s shadow creatures lurking behind the trees and brush, but she is alive. A queen’s life, for a bereaved one.

Near the queen’s fangs is a torn, pink flower.

A grunt of pain as Wilson moans and presses something pink and gooey to a spot on his head, seemly awoken from his short slumber. “Is it over? Are we dead?” He huffs, pain twisting his features. His eyes land on Wendy’s form, scanning over the spear still inside the queen’s heart and pauses. “Oh.”

“NEGATIVE.” Wx-78’s voice resounds from the ground. It’s choppy and broken, like a bad radio signal. “THE THREAT HAS BEEN ELIMINATED.”

A roar of the fire springs up; Willow tends to a fire placed in the middle of the road, tossing in spider bodies in an effort to keep the flame alive. “Both of you shut up and get over here before you freeze to death!” She yells, arms curled around her torso. The shivering that racks her form does not seem to be from blood loss.

Wilson mumbles something under his breath, grabbing Wx-78 by the metal scruff and dragging him over to the fire with the last bit of his strength. “We almost just became spider food, Willow, a little civility would be nice.”

“Civility?” The woman barks back. “We were not prepared to go up against a fucking Spider Queen, Wilson. You said this would be a quick silk run!”

The scientist’s eyes fall. He drops the immovable robot and slumps to the ground, rummaging through his pockets. “Yes, I didn’t expect it.” He pulls out small clumps of pink goo, dropping a piece into her hands. “I thought we had more time before she erupted. I didn’t realize how close to the cycle this nest was.”

Wilson takes a particular large clump and drops it into the open gash on Wx-78’s chassis. It falls around the gears and wires, the color changing and becoming more metallic. Soon enough, the metal had mended itself as if by a wielder. The robot sits up with alarming speed of someone who was just paralyzed. “MECHANISMS ARE FREEZING.”

“Then get near the fire, damn it.” Willow hisses, the smell of burning monster flesh still not enough to keep her from sticking her hands within the flames. “I’m not dragging your frozen bodies back to camp.”

“Better a frozen body than a half eaten one.” Wilson sighs.

“Better? Being monster food would have been the last of your worries if Wendy didn’t save your sorry asses!” She makes a move to swat at them both before she pauses. Realization, slowly but surely, washes over her face. Wilson’s and Wx-78’s faces begin to match her own.

The three slowly turn to where the queen’s body lay. Where Wendy’s form sat quietly, a pink flower cradled in her hands.

“Wendy?” Willow speaks up, her voice lighter. “Come to the fire and get warm, okay?”

The girl does not answer.

“FETUS FLESHING. APPROACH US.”

The girl does not move.

Willow sends a glance to Wilson, confusion in her glare. It takes a moment of silence, a quiet moment of stillness where there is nothing but the setting sun and the sound of a crackling fire do the three realize there’s an apparent lack of certain ghostly figure.

Wendy sits quietly, fingers curled around the destroyed petals of her sister’s flower. The ripped silk, once something beautiful a memoir that mimicked her own hairpiece now a shredded bundle of scraps barely recognizable as something that once held so much life. Or at least, what a life once was.

But now there was just cold. The freezing air was all she felt, no hum of the flower, no whispers of a laughing voice, the one that told her bedtime stories and made little promises to never leave her.  Cold and emptiness were the only present feelings, not even the hot blood spilling from an unknown wound under her shirt could break her from her thoughts.

All good things will eventually end, and sometimes you question if it was ever a good thing in the first place.

She hears footsteps approach and a gasp. The scientist must have noticed her wounds because he’s yelling something about a thermal stone and spider glands as the world darkens around her. It’s a welcoming sight, a comfortable one. One she falls into as her body is lifted from the ground and cradled.

Wendy lets the darkness envelope her, as she always knew it would.

 

* * *

When she awakens, she hopes she is dead. But she isn’t, because the dead don’t feel the crushing heartbreak of being alive.

Maybe not psychically alone, because a warm soft hand places itself on her forehead. Wendy does not want to open her eyes but reflex forces them to. Willow stares down at her, relief etched in her face. She takes a deep breathe and removes her hand from the girl, pulling a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear.

“Hey,” The pyro’s voice is almost a whisper, a different tone from the usually rambunctious attitude she holds. “I know that death is sorta your ‘thing’ but we almost lost you there.” She says. “How are you feeling?”

She doesn’t. She doesn’t really feel anything. Wendy opens her eyes from reflex, the sunlight shining through the thin fabric of the tent illuminating the two girls. She finds herself in a bedroll, mindlessly reaching a hand down to her torso, feeling a strip of bandages wrapped around her midsection. There’s no hole there, not physically at least. The gaping wound in her heart feels strong enough to swallow her whole.

Wendy lets her head fall back down to the ground and turns away. Willow seems to take her silence as an answer. “Well, we made you something.” Something clattered, the sound of golden plates being shuffled closer. “Dragonfruit pie. It’s really good, I promise.”

When the bereaved girl doesn’t knowledge her, Willow pushes a little more. “Please? Not even a bite?” She urges. “C’mon, it’ll make you feel better.”

Wendy very strongly doubts this. Willow waits a few seconds in hope that the girl will change her mind, only giving an audible sigh when it’s clear the child has no intention of interacting. “I’ll leave it here. Just in case.” The smallest tidbit of frustration is evident in her voice but she’s doing a good job of concealing it.

The plate is pushed to the side again, Willow leaning uncomfortably close to where Wendy lay. The blonde wants to push her away, curl up in the corner and scream but her hands only twitch inwards to her palm, right where Abigail’s ripped flower was.

Or really, should be. There’s nothing there. Not the even a single shredded petal. Wendy feels her mind sink even lower than it was before.

“Do you want to go see the guys? You kinda freaked us all out, they’d all like to know if you’re okay, ya know?” Willow has a comforting, sisterly tone that makes Wendy want to puke. “I think you made Wx feel an emotion for once. He was acting pretty weird.”

“My sister’s flower.” Wendy whispers, voice horse and broken. “Where is it?”

The older woman stops, thinking for a moment. When she speaks again, there’s genuine confusion  in her answer. “…I don’t know. I’m pretty sure it was here when we brought you back with us.”

The girl brings her knees to her chest, curled up into a ball and closes her eyes. Maybe if she were to go back to sleep, she thinks, she can pretend that Abigail was still here. Or at least her flower, the last connection she had to her other half. She had almost been lucky enough for the big sleep that would have reunited her sister back with her. But she couldn’t even have that. Now, it was hard to say that she’ll see her ever again even after death.

Her sister’s soul was bound to that flower. Was it gone forever? Shredded, torn apart piece by piece by the spider queen’s fangs while they stood in the swamp mud, helpless to save her? Or was she in limbo, perhaps hell, wondering whenever she’ll she summoned back again without knowing there’s no more door through the flower to bring her to the realm of the living once more?

Was she angry at Wendy perhaps? Were sisters not supposed to protect each other?

Th swirling thoughts that infect her mind are strong, making her dizzy and sick. She can hear Willow say something but doesn’t quite catch the words beyond her own anxiety. Let her rot in this bedroll, let her body perish and become cold in the winter wasteland that has become of this hellish realm that promised her a chance to be with Abigail again only to have her die once more. This time, she could not come back. It was her fault.

A louder, more monotone voice breaks through the static and reaches her ears.“FIRESTARTER.” Wendy doesn’t turn her head, but she can hear the tent’s flap being pushed open and heavy boots clunking towards the them. Willow gives him a questioning look. “Yeah?”

Wx-78 is as curt as ever. “THE SCIENTIST HAS CONSUMED UNCOOKED GREEN MUSHROOMS AND HAS RAN INTO THE FOREST.”

She gapes at him, standing up quickly. “He’s done _what now_?!” She yells. The calming tone she took on is gone, and returns back to the bolder attitude she wears often. “That idiot! What the hell does he think he’s doing?!”

She’s halfway out of the tent before she pauses, swiveling on her heel to put a hand on the robot’s shoulder. They squint at her hand, watching it point down at the girl in the bedroll. “Watch her. I’ll be back soon. Probably.”

Lighter footsteps rush away from the tent, and it’s just the robot and the bereaved now. Silence has settled in the tent, Wendy can hear own breathing. Just hers, because the machine doesn’t breath. Instead, it’s joints clink as gears turn when it moves. She listens to it as they come to stand closer to her, pitch black sensors glaring down at her body.

“YOUR WOUNDS HAVE BEEN HEALED BY ORGANIC SPIDER FLESH. YOU ARE NOW FUNCTIONAL AGAIN.” They say-matter of fact. “GET UP.”

Wendy does not move. They must not have liked how she ignored them because they speak up again, their volume a little louder. “GET UP, FLESHLING. YOU’RE PROLONGED HIBERNATION IS NOT PRODUCTIVE.”

It’s difficult to pretend Abigail is still here when their voice is grating her ears. “Leave me.” The girl mummers. “I will not be useful to you alive. No longer.”

“I STILL HAVE USE FOR YOU. GET UP.”

“I can’t” Her chest heaves like she's about to cry, her tears are held back.“I can’t.”

Wx-78 stand like a statue, processing.“WHY.”

It’s less of a question and more of a demand of an explanation, one that Wendy is not willing to entertain. Instead, she curls as tight as she possibly can, head buried into herself. The heartbreak aches like knives in her chest. “Please….”

Seconds tick by, which turn into minutes. They stay like this for a while, utter silence and devoid of motion until Wx-78 crouches from their postion above her, sliding their arms under her and lifting her from the bedroll. Wendy keeps her face hidden, shuddering.

She feels them take her out of the tent when colder air hits her. “SCAN COMPLETE. COMMENCING REPAIR PROCEDURE.”

The girl grits her teeth, her mouth having gone dry. “You can’t…fix me.” Her throat has begun to close up. “Only death can fix this. Only that can solve this. Only…” The sentence trails off. It’s too difficult to speak.

The robot doesn’t answer as they walk. Snow crunches beneath their feet as they move, further from the camp. Wendy wonders if they took what they said to heart (Ironic, despite their lack of one) and will finally end her life. Perhaps they will leave her out in the wilderness, alone to either starve or freeze to death. Or maybe end her life with their own hands. It wouldn’t take much, just a quick turn of the neck and she would be sleeping forever. With her sister again, if she was lucky.

She wants to be angry at them. At all of them, for bringing her here. At Wx-78 for bringing her to the camp, at Wilson for not believing her sister was real, even at Willow who acted oh so plainly as she grieved for a second time in her life. Abigail's death was their fault. It couldn’t be anyone else’s. The spider queen may have rippped her flower to pieces but it was their actions that brought her out. They were murderers-

Wendy’s eyes sting in the cold air as they begin to wet and chokes back a sob. Lying will not bring her sister back. It will not make her forget that she failed to protect her.

The motions stop, the robot standing firmly in their place. Metal arms wrap around her form gentle than the last time they carried her, cradled like a baby, like mother used to when she and Abigail were young. Except she was older, more broken now, and her carrier is a heartless machine.

“WE ARE HERE.” He shakes her. “WAKE UP.”

The blonde blinks back tears, bringing her head back enough to look around. They’re not that far from camp, snow decorating the forest around them. A leaf-less birch tree stands before them, covered in snow with it’s bare branches high to the sky. She stares at it through watery eyes, scanning the white trunk in confusion.

She looks up at Wx-78, and finds them looking right back down to her. “…Why are we here?”

“YOU ARE UPSET BECAUSE OF YOUR SIBLINGS DEPARTURE.” The words sting harsher than the cold does. “I’VE BROUGHT YOU BACK TO SPAWN TO REBOOT.”

Blank blue eyes stare into dark ones, drifting slowly over to the tree’s branches and then back again. “Spawn?” She mutters quietly. The robot’s head tilts ever so slightly it can be taken as a nod. “YES.”

Wendy’s soft cries halt, if only for a moment. “…Where do you think children ‘spawn’ from, exactly?”

“HUMAN BABIES GROW ON TREES, OBVIOUSLY. LIKE HOW I FOUND YOU.”

A hiccup escapes Wendy. Abigail would have thought this to be hilarious.

But she isn’t here to hear this ridiculous assumption, even as much as Wendy wants her to be, she’s not, not even in spirit. So she breaks a little bit more, throat tight and she struggles not to choke on her own sobs. Tears poured freely from her eyes, her breathing hard and fists gripping to Wx-78’s chassis.

Then she screams. Loud, filled with a despair that echoes through the forest. She screams again and again, swinging her fists in the air mindlessly as her mind flooded with memories that only hurt harder.

She screams until she can’t anymore, and she’s swallowing salty water down her throat and her knuckles are stinging from batting on the body of her holder, their hold on her never faltering even as her tears spark the wires in their hands or bat against them.

In a cold snowy forest, Wx-78 holds a human a crying human child until they’re not longer crying. She becomes a snotty, red-eyed girl who has puffy cheeks and is heaving for air. They bring her up higher, tilting their head. “HAVE YOU REBOOTED?”

Wendy sniffs. “It would be better if I was deactivated.”

“NO. YOU’RE THE LEAST ANNOYING MINION I HAVE.” She jolts in their arms as they turn on their heel, away from the forest and walks towards the direction of the camp. “RETURNING TO BASE.”

She doesn’t feel better, not fixed like Wx said but less overwhelmed. Just a little. Fingers curl in and out of her palm, imaging soft petals between them as snow crunches beneath them. It’s not long before they’re on the edge of camp and Wx pulls his arms outwards, turning her upright and setting her down on her feet.

It takes a moment to realize that she’s grabbed onto their hands in the motion, and she finds herself reluctant to let go. Eventually, she does, but not without black holes watching as she turns away. Still, the robot says nothing until they look down and abruptly screeches in horror. “THERE ARE HUMAN BOOGERS ON MY CHASSIS.”

The blonde shrugs. “That is your own fault.”

The robot is furiously wiping themselves clean, muttering binary code and shooting her a glare. They look as if they’re going to speak something else before another voice rings in the air. “Where the HELL have you two been?”

Both turn to see Willow helping a very-rough looking Wilson to log near the fire, both anger and relief evident on her face. “I left for two minutes. TWO MINUTES and you guys ran off.” She drops the scientist (who falls with a little oof) and marches up to them both. In one fluid motion, she wraps one hand around Wendy’s shoulder’s and points another accusing finger at Wx-78.

“I told you to watch her, not freaking abduct her you stupid bot!” She yells, glaring with fire in her eyes. She switches to Wendy, eyeing the puffy cheeks and snot nose the child adorned. “Oh.”

The girl shrugs her hand off her shoulder and turns away. She did not need adults to baby her tears once again, even in another realm. She has suffered through her twin’s death once. She will just have to suffer through it once more.

Willow seems reluctant to let her go but relents, watching as she quietly walks over to the fire and takes a spot on one of the logs. She was obviously cold and heartbroken, but at least she was okay. The pyro sighs, placing a hand to her forehead as a headache begins to form.

As she and Wx-78 begin to argue, Wendy tunes them out, placing her hands in her lap and staring into the raoring flames that Willow had previously fed so perfectly well. Carefully, slowly, she took deep breathes and closed her eyes. The exhaustion that riddle one’s body after long session of sobbing was not to be underestimated.

“Hey.”

Wendy blinks her eyes open. Wilson smiles at her with his hands clasped together, a bandage covering one his eyes. “I have something I think will make you feel better.”

Wendy’s dead expression does not shift. “I’m not in the mood.” The man doesn’t even flinch at her comment, instead he unfurled his hands and holds out his palm. Wendy looks down.

With all petals intact and a faint glow coming from the bud, in his hand sits Abigail’s flower.

“I had a hypothesis, so I ran a little experiment and uh-” He gives a sheepish laugh.“Turns out nightmare fuel is pretty good adhesive.”

He lets the flower float into her outstretch hands, wide blue eyes staring at it as it hums with energy. The world around Wendy stops, the soft silk of the petals comforting against her skin. It’s gone quiet, even the arguing has stopping for the two other had turned to watch her cradle the flower and listen.

Faintly but surely, there is a whisper.

Abigail tells her she missed her.

“SCIENTIST. WHY HAVE YOU MADE THE FETUS CRY AGAIN.”

Wilson sits up straight in panic. “I-I didn’t do anything! I swear I didn't-” He doesn't get to finish his sentence as something small crashes into his body, making all the marks fomr the shadow creature’s claws ache in pain. His face twists in a grimince of pain that softens when he see’s Wendy’s head thud against his chest. “Ah, well…”

“That’s why you went insane? For some nightmare-whatcha-whatever?” Willow approaches them, hands on her hips and eyeing the scientist critically. “Did you even know if it would work?”

Wilson shrugs and Wx-78 scoffs in the background. “THE SCIENTIST’S MEATBRAIN LACKS LOGICAL SKILLS.”

“No! I have plenty of logical skills.” He snaps, “I just conducted an experiment.”

Willow shakes her head. “And almost got yourself killed because of it. I should be super pissed at you right now but…” She looks down to the twins and smiles. “I don’t ever think I’ve seen her smile like that.”

Wendy hasn’t smiled, not in a long time, but she is now and she can’t stop, the emptiness in her chest flooding with the hope she didn’t realize she had lost. She promises her sister that these tears are not of sadness, but of relief.

Abigail's flower is pushed against her heart. “I missed you, Abby.” She half-laughs through her tears. “I missed you so much. I love you.” The flower flutters. Abigial loves her too.

With the her sister safely in her grasp, the small girl looks up to Wilson, wiping her nose and giving him a nod of the head. “Abby says thank you.”

Wilson freezes, uncertainty in his form before placing a hand on her head and giving a a little pat. “She’s very welcome.”

Suddenly, a second body join the group. Willow jumps in between them, one hand wrapping around Wilson’s shoulder (Who grunts in pains, mummering something about a broken rib) and the other around Wendy’s, pulling them together in one big-hug.

“Awww, I think nerd boy over here finally believes in ghosts!” She taunts him, her face inches away from his own. “So was is the glowing, floating transparent little girl we’ve had around for a month or the handful of greencaps that finally convinced ya?”

Said ‘nerd-boy’ shoots her an irritated glance but says nothing, instead allowing himself to fall into the warmth of her embrace. Wendy listens to Abigail laugh at the two of them, remarking about how cute of a couple they were and storybook endings. There are no storybook endings, no happy ones at least. Still, even knowing this does not make the moment any less sweeter, it just simply means that the end is not near.

From a distance, Wx-78 yells in disgust. “YOUR AFFECTION AND EMPATHY REPULSE ME.”

This time, it is Wendy who sends back a retort. “And yet you held me when I was distraught.” She hums, feeling how her throat was still sore. “That’s not very evil overlord of you.”

Both Willow and Wilson whip their heads up and raise brows. Abigail giggles when the robot’s glare burns into them. “DELETE THAT MEMORY.”

Wilson strokes his beard, mischief pulling up the corners of his mouth. “I do believe that opens up a spot in our lovely ‘group hug’.” With this comment the pyro woman looked down to him, a grin itching on her face. “Why, I believe you’re right, Wilson!”

Wx-78 looked horrified. “NO.”

“Either you get in the hug or I can throw you in the fire!”

“I CANNOT BE BURNED, FOOLISH FLESHING.”

The hug disperses, one adult attempting to tackle the robot while the other shuffled over to a chest, pulling out spiderglands and a small bowl. Wilson joins Wendy near the fire once more, both watching the chase scene unfold within the camp.  Abigail sits cradled in her hands, cheering Willow on from inside the flower, whispers of laughter when the robot trips over a tree root and dives face first into a mound of fresh snow.

I like these people, Abby says, giggling in the corners of Wendy’s mind. She pets the flower, safe and sound in her hands, waiting to see her agian. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't remember when I started working on this but I've been wanting to write this story for some time now. It was not supposed to be as long as this but it just kinda happened that way. Anyways this took me a few days? weeks? Idk but if you could leave a review I'll love you forever. Pls it gives me life.
> 
> Happy Holidays!


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